


"My dark heart lights up the sky"

by Zagzagael



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zagzagael/pseuds/Zagzagael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris as Thor is hot but for some reason I just went in a truly Norse mythological direction....the goat-team, the oaks, the mutual threatening death with serpent, you know....</p>
<p>comment fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	"My dark heart lights up the sky"

She chases storms. And sometimes she finds him and sometimes she doesn't. In the shape of the bending sky, the ferocious noise, and the electric tearing of the air. In the aftermath that is so total, so completely devastating, she cannot be humbled, she is awed.

She fingers the hammer that hangs in the hollow of her throat and smiles at the thought of how commercialized the gods have become, how the soul craves for his maker and how small the symbolic act of modern worship can seem. She bought the pendant on eBay, splurging on silver, and a hand-forged serpentine chain that always reminds her of how deeply he fears the snake.

She has taken to killing snakes whenever she stumbles across one, chasing clouds sparking fire. They seem to come up out of the earth to meet him. With the handy spade she makes a clean cut, the severed head and dripping fangs, and always she speaks aloud to the thrashing creature, cursing it back to whence it came, swearing to the heavens that one less snake is one less threat of death. The mutual dying that she knows, in her heart, she cannot save him from even if she could guillotine all the snakes in all the world.

She sees a funnel cloud so overwhelming in size that it sucks the breath out of her lungs. The brutal grey edges defined by pieces of homes and leaf-stripped trees and dying animals. Its dark heart lights up the sky with its lightning arteries. She finds him this time beside a 500 year old oak splintered and torn from its roots, the two dead goats field dressed, and a small fire fed by timber and over which he’s roasting the meat. He is hunkered down, his back to her, but she knows he knows she’s there. She watches him tip his head, listening as she approaches and she’s shedding her clothing as she draws near. She knows that to lay with gods is to become a figure in someone else’s story. But she doesn't mind that if it means that for these moments she is writing her story on his skin. She cannot stop herself, wants no other thing than him on the tortured ground, the goats reviving, the thunder cracking, the lightning arcing out of her fingers and toes.

She counts the days on her fingers. If she can find him again she will tell him that the child inside of her writhes and twists as though she has a belly full of snake.


End file.
